I glanced at the wall clock near the refrigerator. “In about half an hour.”
“Will you be gone all night?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably stay locked into the app for a while and see how many people place orders to-go since it’s Saturday night.”
“Hopefully, a lot.”
“Hopefully.”
I took a large pot from the kitchen cabinet and put it on the range, then set about filling it with whatever qualified as a large and cheap stew. Dad wasn’t too picky about the food that he ate, and he was more than willing to overlook my efforts to stretch the limited amount we had into as many healthy meals as I could create.
Once satisfied with what I’d made, I went to my small bedroom, threw on a jeans jacket, and slid a baseball cap over my head. Working as a delivery driver for FoodSwap meant dressing for comfort, since I’d spend my evening couriering food all over the city to get whatever tips I could make. It wasn’t easy, but if I worked hard enough, a decent night would bring in one hundred bucks or more. And God, we needed every one of those dollars.
Tonight needs to be a good night.
After saying goodbye to my dad, I slipped out the back door, and climbed into the aging SUV he bought before he had to stop working. I hadn’t needed a car in New York, so it was the only one we had, but I knew after dinner he’d most likely spend the rest of the evening staring at one of the many reality shows on the TV. I hooked the phone onto the charger and unlocked it, ready to sign in on the FoodSwap app and get my directions for the evening.
One text message awaited me. Seth Sampson.
Of course.
I leaned against the car seat and contemplated the message for a moment before I opened it. This meant one thing—Ashley must have told Seth she’d seen me in the food line earlier. I wasn’t stupid, that would be the only reason he’d contacted me.
We weren’t friends. I worked for him sometimes. That was all.
Except . . .
Except I liked him. I did. That was probably one of the biggest reasons why I said yes every time he texted, asking me to be a “hype person” for one his parties. Over the course of a few years, I’d dressed up as a can-can dancer, marionette, Marilyn Monroe, female superhero, or extra from a classic grindhouse film. If I was in town, I never said no. Besides, The Frosted Heart one of the best nightclubs in the region, and he owned it.
Which gave him an extra magnetism.
Beyond that—I liked how he smiled at me, and how he made me feel whenever he saw me, as if there wasn’t anyone else in the club, or any other person at the party.
Seth had it, and I wanted it.
I unlocked the message. The drama of the last few months had prevented me from keeping up with him, but now that he’d reached out, I was curious. A flicker of interest was growing into a flame, and it wouldn’t take much to stoke it.
Seth: Hey, I was wondering how you were doing. I know it’s been a weird year. Hope you’re well.
Three sentences, less than twenty words. No big deal at all. And yet I read it at least five times before I replied.
Me: Thanks for the text. I’m doing okay. Hope you’re doing good too.
Simple enough. And true in a lot of ways. We were doing okay, despite the problems Dad and I recently faced. Neither of us had gotten sick from the virus, we’d both been vaccinated, and we had our home thanks to Dad’s efforts to pay off the mortgage during my childhood. I still had hope, and if I had that I’d be able to make it. We could make it.
I closed the message app and opened up FoodSwap. Time to get to work.
FOURSETH
“We need more help. A lot more.”
I keyed the newest order into the cash register and turned to Tyler. He’d agreed to work that night to give Kyle a rare night off from the restaurant. The food drive had been a huge success, but Kyle and Ashley were tired. They deserved some time to themselves.
But we were busier, and I felt a change in the air. The warmer weather and the availability of COVID vaccines meant more people wanted to venture out, and for some of them, that meant ordering dinner from the restaurant.
“Can you call someone?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Well, we could use some extra delivery people.”
I wandered into the kitchen and pulled a tray of fresh dough from the rack. A row of toppings was nearby, and I spread some of the pizza’s signature sauce on top. This order called for extra cheese, green peppers, and Italian sausage. It needed to go in the oven as fast as I could make it.
“Do you know anyone?” I added over my shoulder as I covered the sauce in peppers.
“Not someone available tonight,” Tyler replied. “It’s the weekend.”
I winced. Once, in another life, the phrase “it’s the weekend” was incredibly loaded, full of all kinds of implication. The weekend was where I made my money, where I made the magic for the people who patronized The Frosted Heart. Working in that industry meant the weekends came with all kinds of extra pressure, as I tried to create epic nights that people would document on social media.
“The weekend. Right.” I thought about it for a moment, then turned to face Tyler. “I don’t have any ideas, either, but we need someone to help us, and I don’t want to disturb Kyle and Ashley about it.”
“Can’t remember the last time they’ve had a regular Saturday night to themselves. Kyle is always here.”
“I can empathize.” I snapped my fingers as an idea came to me. “What if we use
